She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. Montague Hill do not interest me in the least. "Now, Sir, I'll trouble you for your coat. She moved a little nearer to him. ‘Tell me, my boy.
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